


Substitute.

by Emeka



Category: Suikoden I
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, Incest, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, no actual touchy-touchy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 03:04:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19123282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeka/pseuds/Emeka
Summary: Tir beds two men every night.





	Substitute.

He wakes on the heels of a dream that has followed him for several years now. Even since he was a child, in images that were easier for him to understand, but still the same. Puberty became the catalyst for change, which converted all those uncharacteristically warm, smothering kisses and embraces into forbidden playthroughs of his father entering his room in the dead of night, and slipping into his sheets.

He stretches, holds a yawn, and turns, his hand lazily seeking out some nice chunk of flesh to hold onto. The dreams cause him no distress at all. They are very similar to ones he has in the day. 

"Are you awake, young master?" Gremio's voice, low, deferential. Even together like this he has never called him just by name. "It's still the middle of the night."

Middle of the night, but soon to come out of it. There's a purplish tinge to the darkness that will lighten soon to blue, then cool down into oranges and yellows. It's an hour where it's still easy to pretend. For a little while yet, Gremio can sound deeper and gruffer in his ears, just as his hands can feel rougher, and the odor of his body muskier. It does no honor to either of them to think this way, but Tir has accepted it since this began, not long after the start of their setting out. As long as he never throws it in Gremio's face who he's really thinking of (and such a thing he would never do, both for his own reputation, and out of love for Gremio), then he's willing to live with it.

His hand finds the slight indent of a waist, and pushes through, pulling his arm along like string through a loop until he touches down on the other side, against blankets warm with body heat. A hand touches his cheek, fingers separating, splaying along the line of his cheekbone. Their bare legs brush and intermingle. "Help me get to sleep."

Gremio wraps him up in his strong, strong arms, and _that's_ alright, but his kiss is too timid. Still he murmurs his name, because it lends a higher degree of verisimilitude to what they are doing. Saying the wrong person's name is the classic example of someone who's mind is wandering. If he keeps saying the right one it will be a charm. 

He doesn't even have to close his eyes. Everything is too purple and indistinct still. They could be anyone. It makes it easier to pretend, and the words automatic, thoughtless. It's the only thing that doesn't have to change.

The sting inside his body, and the ache in his thighs from his legs being pulled apart, drives his mind crazy. He pants 'Gremio' on each breath, as Gremio lovingly whispers his title against his ear, and thinks of his childhood bed. His father in an even darker lighting than this, not seeing but knowing it to be him through sheer presence, the hairs on his arms raising in excitement. There would be no point in resisting. He wouldn't want to, but knowing he couldn't, that he would be helpless in his father's hands as he had his way with him...

He bites his lip against the possibility of something unwise as he spills. Gremio's hair is too long but he pulls on it anyway.

Gremio sputters shortly after, in breath and movement, and only stays in because it has been made clear by now it's fine (it's how the dreams always end, after all). Tir thinks, perhaps uncharitably, that the timing of his release is driven by duty; his noble servant would view his continuing to have at his master's body post-orgasm as an inconvenience. 'Intercourse should only last until the young master is satisfied'. He wouldn't be surprised if he thought something like that.

He clings to Gremio the way he had once clung to his father after bad dreams, face against his chest, head resting on his arm. The smell of semen is thick in the air. The association corrupts his childhood memory into another imagining. Bitterly he wishes this war had never occurred. He knows he'd never act on his thoughts but to be at least beside him, instead of face to face across a battlefield...

Gremio falls asleep before him, snoring gently. Tir rolls over in place because he is not there quite yet, and the sun is coming up. He doesn't want to see what the light will reveal. He'll pretend a little longer.


End file.
